For All You Moms Out There
by redrupee
Summary: In which Maka, Black Star, and Death the Kid find the mothers that they lack within their partners. 3 oneshots of familial love and endless partnership.
1. Letters

AN: Happy Mother's Day. Fluff oneshots for all!

Contains Soul/Maka if you squint a little bit.

* * *

Soul identified the muffled cries concealed within the room before his hand had turned the knob on their door, thank God in Heaven above. The realization gave him time to think, time to plan, time to make sure he could set things right no matter what the cause or catalyst, so he paused, a wild dog catching a dangerous scent in the wind. First, he needed an excuse not to enter their apartment; surely she'd heard him stirring outside. He could recall some sort of commercial that advertised what one should do if he or she "needed a moment," so he reached into his pocket and bit into the half-melted chocolate bar he'd bought at the store with vicious aplomb, only to realize - belatedly - that he'd forgotten to unwrap it.

Not even the taste of foil and paper mixed with soupy Hershey's milk chocolate (with almonds) could distract him from the potentially dangerous situation at hand. He forced himself to chew as he thought, because the only garbage bin he could spit the poison into was inside and there was _no way _he was going inside yet, but the time he was buying himself wasn't yielding any results that were remotely desirable - in fact, she was crying _harder _now, wasn't she? Yes - and this was all wrong, this was _all _wrong. Even the frantic slap of his heart against his ribcage told him that. He was used to these cries - things upset her, she _was_ a girl after all - but something about the way in which she cried today alarmed him.

She shouldn't be upset today.

It was time to bite the bullet and be a man. He swallowed, ignoring the scrape of indigestible aluminum against the walls of his throat, and put on his bravest face. For a moment he forced himself to weigh his options once more - turn around and leave, no she'd heard him unlock the door; enter and just ignore her, _Hell _no, that would be a dick move - but there was no way around it: He would have to go inside, and he would have to comfort her. Alone.

The door swung open, and he tried to greet her, but a piece of almond that had lodged itself within his windpipe (or something equally unfortunate) decided to resurface, causing him to choke. Maka looked up from the pillow she'd been hugging to her face, tears streaming from her reddened eyes and snot (he would grab a tissue for that on his way in) beginning to drip from her nose, a sure sign that she'd been at this for a while. Undoubtedly, the situation was worse than he had thought. His grin came off as a grimace as he dropped the bag of groceries onto the floor (they fell over and their contents spilled everywhere, but he would deal with that later) and deposited the ex-chocolate into the garbage bin, nimbly plucking a tissue from the conveniently-placed box on the table in the process.

"You look upset, Maka," he said to her, mentally kicking himself in the ass for the rest of eternity for saying something so stupid. She blushed, probably embarrassed to be caught showing such obvious weakness, and avoided eye contact.

"I'm f_ine_," she told him, but her breath hitched with a residual sob as she spoke. Heaving a deep sigh, Soul picked his way over the various items scattered on the floor to sit beside her, and she sat upright to make room for him, still adamantly refusing to look him in the eye.

"Asking you to talk about it if you don't want to wouldn't be cool," he said, offering her the issue. She blew her nose into it noisily and peeked at him through puffy eyes, silent.

"Can't say I'm not curious, though," he added. She squirmed awkwardly and dried her tears with an edge of the issue that was (hopefully) free of all mucus-like matter, sniffling.

"Today's Mother's Day," she declared. Soul had known that, and it was what had thrown him off in the first place - why would a day honoring her favorite person be something for her to despair over? He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue, and when she mirrored his silence, he took the bait.

"Why are you sad, though?" He asked, canting his head off to the side. "I thought you loved your mom."

Somehow that started a fresh batch of tears, and Soul had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as a gesture of hopelessness towards all female hormones in existence.

"Hey, hey; don't cry," he insisted, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. She leaned against him and bawled with a fierceness that was equal to the force in which she fought, and Soul had to resort to begging. "_Please _don't cry?"

"I'm _sorry_," she wailed. A chill crept its way up the weapon's spine and back down again; this sort of vulnerability was so unlike her. "I'm _sorry_, Soul. I... I sent Mama a Mother's Day card! I sent it to her a month early, too, so she'd get it in time!" He was having a hard time deciphering what she was saying - her words were so swallowed up by her frantic sobbing. "But... But she didn't send me a card back! She never writes to me anymore, Soul!" She balled his clothes up in her fists and screamed into his shirt at the top of her voice. "_I miss her so much_!"

Soul glared at a small group of people that had paused in their open doorway. He mouthed the first profanity that came to his mind at them and they resumed they journey down the hall instantly, whispering amongst themselves.

"I wish Papa wasn't so useless! I wish Mama... I wish Mama never left!" Maka lamented, resting her cheek against his (now thoroughly soaked) jacket. "I'm sorry, Soul... I must look so s-_stupid_. But I miss her... I miss her so much..."

Soul wasn't sure of what to say. He sighed again, running his hands through her slightly-matted hair, absent-mindedly drying her tears with his thumb and trying not to look at her lest he inadvertently set her off again. There was so much he could say and so much he could do, but nothing seemed right - nothing seemed to fit. He really didn't know what it was like to miss someone.

"I'm sorry, Maka," he said at last, bringing his hand up to comfortingly rub her back. "But it's okay. I mean, it's cool."

She looked up at him, and he dodged her eyes nimbly, trying to pretend that seeing her in such a state wasn't tearing him apart inside.

"If it makes you feel any better," he gambled, using his spare hand to bashfully rub the back of his head, "you'll never have to write any letters to me. I'm going to be here. I'm just... I'm just that kind of guy, I guess."

Maka paused and - praise Jesus and all of his disciples; it's a miracle in Death City! - a smile began to blossom on her face.

"You'd make a good mom, Soul," she said, leaning more of her weight against him.

Soul bared his teeth in a proud grin and decided not to feel offended.

"If I'm such a great mom, maybe you should cook me a nice Mother's Day dinner," he suggested.

She smacked him on the head with the spine of a hardcover novel, and he sneered at her through the pain. A Mother's Day beating was fine, too; anything but more tears. Anything.

* * *


	2. Flowers

AN: Black Star and Tsubaki now. n_n

* * *

She'd gone through the logic and the steps, and the conclusion she'd drawn was simple: Black Star _had _to be sick. Sick in body, or sick in the head - either way, something was wrong with him.

"Um... 'Sup, Tsubaki?" He chirped with forced enthusiasm, taking a suspiciously keen interest in an ant that was crawling past his feet. He stood before her with his hands behind his back, his eyes downcast and his face flushed with something that resembled (the impossible notion of) embarrassment. When she tried to catch his eye, he looked away, and when she tried to look behind him, he shifted, clearing his throat at unnecessary times and adjusting his posture at increasingly more uncomfortable increments.

"Good morning, Black Star," Tsubaki replied, meek with anxiety. "Your face is all red," she pointed out, reaching to check his temperature with the back of her palm. He ducked out of the way, and she instinctively furrowed her eyebrows in both disapproval and concern. He _never _avoided her like this - never. Something was wrong, _very _wrong. Instantly she whipped out her repertoire of immediate worries, wringing her hands against her chest. "Are you alright, Black Star?" What if he had a fever? She would have to sedate him before he ever willingly went to a doctor... "Do you feel sick? Are you dizzy? Do you think you should go sit down?"

"Stop worrying so much, Tsubaki," he grumbled, his hands still clasped firmly behind his back. "I'm alright. Even if I was sick, a simple illness won't take down a person as big as me!" The volume of his voice rose, but it somehow seemed a bit less sincere than usual. "I'm the man who will surpass God, remember? How could I do something like that if being sick would slow me down even a little?" A weak laugh flared up like a small ember in a dying fire, then extinguished, blown out by a breeze.

"If you say so," she said quietly, but her mind was still whirling with unprovoked fears. He looked like his pulse was racing, and there was a cold sweat on his brow - she could see it from where she stood. What could she do if she _did _have to take him somewhere for emergency attention - tie him up? Knock him out? Call an ambulance? "Did you need something?" She decided to ask, trying to keep from panicking outright.

"Well, uh," he began, his eyes darting from the ground to the sky, "I, uh... Looked at the calendar."

"Oh?" Tsubaki replied with a timid smile. Why was he stuttering? Black Star _never _stuttered. "What about it?"

"Well, uh," he stammered, looking at a nearby patch of grass now, "it's, uh, Mother's Day."

Tsubaki was cowed, captured by a look of apprehension.

"I, um... _Thanks_," he said in a tone that was both gentle and completely foreign to him. Both of his fists were thrust out simultaneously - in one hand he held a small bouquet of hastily-picked flowers, some of which were weeds (undoubtedly he was no botanist), and in the other hand he held a bag of grease-dripping fast food. "You, uh, always cook for me and stuff, and I figure that's what a mom does... Not like I would know. And... I thought you might like these, 'cause you're a girl and all, and girls like flowers. And 'cause it's Mother's Day, I figured you wouldn't want to cook me anything, even though you always do."

Tsubaki felt nothing short of pure adoration for this boy, the likes of which she'd never experienced - or perhaps never acknowledged - prior to seeing meager gifts. She grinned and received the items with a sensation of gratefulness that she felt powerless to adequately express, feeling tears biting at the corner of her eyes.

"Thank you, Black Star," she enthused, fighting to keep her tone level. "This... This all looks lovely."

In actuality, it looked awful. The flowers were already partially dead and the food looked as if it were molded from grease - but to her, in that moment, it was absolutely wonderful.

"_Awright_!" Black Star yelled, his former terrifying shyness bleeding from his persona instantly. "Let's eat, Tsubaki! I'm starving!" He spun on his heels and ran flailing to a spot where he had already (haphazardly) thrown down a dirty picnic blanket, kicking up dust and debris with every step. "Ya-_hoo_!"

Tsubaki brought the flowers and weeds to her face and inhaled thoughtfully. It was undeniable that Black Star lived in the moment - surely he would forget this gesture of kindness, this rare peek at the motherless boy that she had seen when she first laid eyes on him.

He would forget. But she would not.

* * *


	3. Carpets

AN: And now the Death Trio!

* * *

"God, Patty, _again_?" Liz enthused, rubbing her temples in distress. This was the third time _today _that she'd been confronted with managing an accidental mess, and she was hardly happy about it. Patty squirmed, giggling despite the potential amount of trouble she found herself in.

"Sowwy," she apologized with a saccharine smile, reaching to hug Liz tightly about the waist. "Patty loves her sis, though! Yes she does!" She looked up at her sister, putting on her dearest, most irresistible face.

"Yeah, yeah," Liz sighed, patting her sister on the head affectionately. She didn't stand a chance against the 'big-blue-eyes' look, the one that was reserved especially for dire situations; she'd always been a sucker for that sweet, innocent face. "You're lucky I'm in mom-mode right now, chica." She gave her fellow gun an affectionate clap on the back, smiling. "Go play; I'll clean this up."

Patty giggled and planted a kiss on Liz's cheek, scurrying off into the adjacent room to entertain herself. The obscene amount of crumbs that had piled up on their meister's beloved carpet stared Liz in the face, taunting her; this little mess was hardly a daunting task, but she didn't particularly enjoy picking up after her sister every time Kid left the house. In fact, she was usually the one to clean things up when Patty decided to go crazy, because if Kid so much as _knew_ the type of things they did to his furniture, the mental damage would be so great that he would lose his ability to speak and go through the rest of his life communicating via sign language.

She sighed dramatically, nudging the crumbs into the dust pan with her hand; the brush to the set had gone missing, and she didn't want to go looking for it. That would only waste time: If Kid decided to come home early, this mess would be dancing before his fragile little mind the moment he came into the room, and it would trigger the worst obsessive compulsive eruption of his young life - and _that _was saying something.

Liz bit her lip in frustration, dumping the refuse into one of two identical trash bins. It certainly was tiring having to look after two complete basket cases 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Neither of them ever said 'thank you' either. Well, that was a lie; they said 'thank you' more times than she could count, but it's easy to _say _things and infinitely harder to _mean _them. As far as she was concerned, she was completely underappreciated. Who kissed Patty's boo-boos better when she ran on the concrete after she'd been warned against it? Who dried Kid's tears when he threw a tantrum about things he was advised to ignore? Who patted both of their backs and forced them to 'make nice' when they argued about stupid things? Liz Thompson did. And Liz Thompson would until she was a weathered old husk, because they were _never_ going to grow up.

Oh, to think about her housewife lifestyle made her blood pressure skyrocket. They had such _entitlement_ issues - always saying thank you and never _meaning _it. The most frustrating thing about it was that there was no way to _make _them mean it; they had to mean it by themselves. She hung the dust pan on the wall, across from its twin, and ran a hand through her hair, thoroughly exasperated. When would she be offered a day off from this hectic, dysfunctional family? When was this dog going to get her day? It really did make her angry - no, not angry, it made her _furious_! Absolutely livid!

"Liz," Kid called from the doorway. "I'm home."

"Great," she mumbled under her breath, plucking the brush from the other dust pan and throwing it into the garbage. It wasn't like the other brush would ever show itself again - why wait to reestablish the symmetry?

"I have something I wish to speak with you about," he said in his typical no-nonsense tone, pacing over to her with his hands resting in his pockets. "It's about today, specifically."

"Go for it," Liz said, glancing over the carpet to ensure that she hadn't missed any offending crumbs. What was this going to be about? Did she miss a spot when she'd cleaned the table? Had she not folded her sheets properly? Had she put a fork in with the spoons when she'd washed the dishes for him?

"I wanted to say that I appreciate you," he stated blandly.

Liz froze.

"You work hard," he continued. "You comfort me when I'm upset. You help me in life-threatening situations, and you treat me like your own. I suppose..." His eyes darted up to meet hers. "I suppose you could say that you're the only mother I've ever had." He swallowed nervously. "... Thank you, Liz. And... Happy Mother's day, though I assume Patty has already--"

"_You ungrateful bastard_!" Liz shrieked, enveloping him in the largest, most spine-crushing hug she could muster. She sobbed into his shoulder, unaware of his choked request for an eventual (and preferably immediate) release.

So maybe he meant it when he said thank you. Maybe they both did. Liz was only completely sure about one thing: For these two psychotic rejects, she would clean all the carpets in the world.

* * *


End file.
